


The Mission

by Kedavranox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedavranox/pseuds/Kedavranox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco does what needs to be done</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mission

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://writcraft.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://writcraft.livejournal.com/)**writcraft** who asked for ' _Last night together before going into battle.'_  
>  Yeah, I fairly wandered away from the prompt, but I hope the general idea/feeling is still there! It's Unbeta'd, so, please forgive any errors.  
> 

The flames from the small fire flickers, casting dark, wavering shadows against the canvas tent. Draco holds his cigarette between his lips, taking a final deep drag and closing his eyes.

God, he hates waiting. It’s maddening.

He picks up the small silver bell from the cot mattress and rolls it between his fingers, tracing curve of the tarnished silver with his fingertip. It was his Mother’s, that’s all he remembers about it. He can't even remember how it came to be in his possession. He closes his palm around it and sighs.

Outside the tent is too quiet. His hands shake as he takes the fag from his lips and stubs it out against the dirt floor.

Harry hates it when he smokes, so he waves his wand and casts a light air freshening charm to cover the smell.

The tent flap opens and a bit of rain blows in before it falls closed again. The first thing Draco notices are Harry’s black boots, caked in mud. He looks up from his place on the cot, pulse racing beneath his skin.

Harry’s face is drawn and tight, the shadows beneath his eyes making him look much older than twenty eight. He casts a drying charm over himself and drops his rucksack on the floor.

Draco’s shoulders slump.‘They won’t negotiate.’

Harry shakes his head. ‘We’ll have to strike. Save who we can.’ He stops, unbuttoning the hook of his Auror robes, yanking it off and tossing it to the floor ‘They have too many hostages,’ he says. ‘They’re going to be causalities.’

‘On both sides,’ Draco murmurs. ‘When?

‘The teams are already set.’

Draco drops the silver bell into his pocket. ‘Who’s leading the strike?’

‘Ron’s team will head in first,’ Harry says. ‘We’re on the second wave.’

‘We?’

A muscle clenches in Harry’s jaw. ‘Yes. I’m going in. Fuck what Kingsley thinks.’

‘It’s not about what Shacklebolt thinks, Harry! You join this raid, they’ll kill you on sight. You took down _Parkinson_. Her husband wants nothing more than your head on a spike.’

‘Everyone wants my head on the spike!’

‘All the more reason you shouldn’t be out there!’

‘Draco, Goyle is insane. He wants to kill everyone. Everyone is in danger.’

‘With you it’s personal, Harry. He’ll want to capture you. Torture you. Have you forgotten the intel? Every single man on his team has been ordered to take you down.You specifically.’ Draco pauses and steps closer to Harry. ‘I won’t be able to _think_ out there, worrying about you. You’ll endanger yourself and everyone else on the team.’

Harry looks at him for a long moment. ‘Draco,’ he says. ‘They have your father. He’s one of the hostages.’

It’s as if all the breath is knocked out of his lungs. Draco takes a few moments to catch himself, and he wavers slightly on his feet. Harry puts out a hand to support. him.

‘That’s impossible,’ Draco rasps. ‘My father is in Azkaban.’

Harry gently squeezes his elbow. ‘Lucius was one of the break outs. They must have paid someone not to report it.’

Draco takes another deep, steadying breath. ‘Did you see him?’

Harry nods. ‘He’s alive. For now.’

Outside, the rain patters down on the tent. They’re camped out just beyond the ruins of an old castle the enemy uses as a base. The Aurors surrounded it the night before, placing anti-Apparition wards all around in an effort to corner them.

Draco closes his eyes briefly. ‘What the fuck do they want?’

‘What Voldemort wanted, I suppose.’ Harry says. ‘Destruction. Chaos.’

‘It makes no sense. Why would they target my father? He’s a Pureblood.’

‘It looks like I’m not the only one they want,’ Harry says. ‘I’m not the only one they’re targeting, Draco.’

The curtain flap opens and Weasely sticks his head in. He’s soaked from the rain, his red hair darkened and plastered against his forehead, his expression grim.

‘We’re heading out soon,’ he says.

Harry nods and Weasley glances at Draco briefly. ‘I’m sorry about your father, Malfoy,’ he says.

Draco swallows and nods mutely, then Weasley disappears.

The tent flap flutters closed, and the soft mulching sound of Aurors, MLE and Hit-Wizards passing by in droves surrounds the tent.

Draco hesitates for a moment and then he pulls Harry close, kissing him fiercely and threading his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry responds just as eagerly, pressing their hips together and tightly holding onto Draco’s waist, as though afraid to let go.

Harry murmurs Draco’s name against his lips, and Draco deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding over Harry’s. Draco nips Harry’s full lips with his teeth when they slightly part, and holds Harry’s stubbled face in his palms, bringing their foreheads together.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says softly.

Harry slips his fingers beneath Draco’s jumper, his cool fingers pressing against Draco’s spine. ‘For what?’ he whispers. ‘None of this is your fault.

Draco kisses Harry again, letting his hands fall to Harry's waist, cupping Harry’s arse in his palms. He slips the small bell into Harry’s pocket and quietly whispers the charm to activate it.

‘Promise me this,’ he says against Harry’s lips. ‘Promise me you’ll stay put. That you you wont try to come back.’

‘Draco wha-?’

Draco pulls away just as the Portkey activates and the look of horrified understanding crosses Harry’s face.

_‘Draco no-!’_

But the Portkey pulls him away, and in seconds he vanishes. Draco grits his teeth, pulls on his scarlet robes and leather gloves, taking a moment to carefully stow his wand in his sleeve. When he steps out of the tent, Weasley is waiting for him, looking at Draco expectantly.

‘It’s done,’ Draco says.

Weasley nods. ‘Good,’ he says. ‘He’ll forgive us one day. If we survives this.’

Draco eyes the ruins of the castle and the shimmer of Dark magic surrounding it. ‘What are the chances of that?’

Weasley looks up at the sky, letting the heavy raindrops soak his face. ‘Let’s hope they’re better than we think.’

~fin  



End file.
